Confessions of a Crappy Mom...

I was just on Facebook getting some work done (also known as procrastinating) and I saw this cheesy "love your kids" post. It was one of those Facebook equivalents of the chain letter where you have to share or your cat will die, your mom will get Shingles, God will hate you and your head explodes.  This one was about daughters.  If you love your daughter and will give your life for her and will die for her and will save every hair that clogs your shower drain because you have to be near her that bad, blah blah pukety blah... 

Rather than sharing it, instead it made me wonder.  Am I the only one who gets freaking annoyed by the clogs in the drain?  And this isn't just daughters, I mean all children.  Based on the majority of my Facebook friends, either I am the worst mom in the world, they have way better kids than mine, or... they are big, fat liars.  Because while I love my children and would give my life for them... sometimes, I want to duct tape their mouths shut and lock them in a closet.  Is that wrong?

Here's some more evidence...

I got annoyed at my six year old this weekend, because he has a stomach bug that keeps coming and going.  He'd be fine, then he'd puke all over my floor.  Rather than coddle and clean like I know a good mother would, I would heave a hefty sigh of irritation and just stare at it and him for awhile.

I volunteered to run to the grocery store Wednesday night at 7:30 and though I only had 4 things on my list, I put in my ear buds and listened to Pandora while I wandered Kroger aimlessly so I didn't have to come home.

I skipped Will's before school reading program on Friday because I didn't want to get out of bed and take him.

Both my boys tend to do dangerous and stupid things, and I usually pause to take a picture of it before telling them to stop.

Sometimes when any two of the three are fighting, I pretend to not hear it and assume it is Darwinian "survival of the fittest" if the fight continues.

Sometimes when I am driving and the girl is in the car doing her make up and I'm annoyed that she was super late to leave and still not ready, I'll hit the brakes to make her lip gloss smear.

....And those are just the ones I thought of off the top of my head. 

All The Single Mamas

With this post I want to accomplish two things.  One, to get Beyonce's "All the Single Ladies" stuck in your head as you read the title and two, to give a great big shout out, fist pump, and a side of kudos to all the women (and men) who raise their kids alone.  Mark is currently out of town, and I have had two nights of single motherhood and I have to tell ya... I'm about done.

I would have said (and will probably say again tomorrow when Mark returns), that I do the lion's share of the work around here.  However, having Mark gone has truly made me realize how much he does (or should I say "how much I have him do?").  Its just nice having a second person to help run the show. 

Last night I was getting ready for the cleaning people to come today (yes, I realize how stupid that sounds) and I still had to do all the kid running that Mark usually does.  That is on top of homework, cooking, eating with the kids, and cleaning up.  I was also doing laundry and... get this... I even had to put it all away!  Oh, the humanity!  On a typical night, Mark is the laundry putter awayer and the kids' chauffer. 

Today, I was my usual 7:00a to 6:00p SAHM, but then I had to do dinner alone, and clean up alone, and make the three beds that the boys either puked or peed on alone, and get them ready for bed alone and now the playroom is looking at me and is a mess and I have to clean it alone.  (Now get some Celine Dion "All By Myself" going...)

The nice thing is... I know Mark is coming home.  Tomorrow.  4:55pm.  I will not be a single mom for much longer.  But, some women are.  Some women don't get to look forward to a book and a bath Friday night because they're alone then, too.  Those women are now officially my heros.  (Insert Mariah Carrey's "Hero" here.)  Really, for all of us who play the working moms have it harder/stay home moms have it harder game, here's the truth...  Single moms have it hardEST!

Aha!

Its been awhile since I've blogged, and unfortunately for the three people that read this...  I'm making a comeback.  I had a little "aha" moment today and I thought I'd share.  I know, I know... I'm too kind.

This morning I was supposed to volunteer at the church that we attend.  I was to work the front desk, and I forgot.  I didn't get sick.  I didn't get in a car accident or double book myself.  I FORGOT!  I took my kids to school in my pajamas (something I wasn't going to admit, but just did) with the full intention of spending the morning on my tush watching a movie I recorded yesterday.  Yes, I was in full on lazy mode.  I had committed to something, but apparently my brain had shut down and I didn't go.  No, that's not my aha moment.

The first aha was half an hour after I was supposed to be done at the front desk.  That's when I realized that I missed it.  But, the bigger one was when I realized something...  I can't do everything.  Some of you may be saying duh, but I say "AHA!"  True story!

I am not a good say no-er.  I say no to people that I know I can say no to and have them still love me.... but I am not good at saying no to people who need something.  I should have "sucker" or "dum dum" or both tattooed to my forehead because I agree to almost anything.  Case in point, this weekend at Will's Blue and Gold Brunch, they put out a call for a new pack secretary.  Even though I help Mark in his den leading duties, I sat there and pondered volunteering just because there was a  need.  I don't want to do it.  But, I am in the presence of a needer and I'm a doer.  Its a sickness.  However, in the moment that I realized that after our hectic weekend of basketball, boy scouts and birthdays, my brain had shut down....  Maybe I agree to too many things.  Instead of doing a few things and doing them well, I am committing to everything and doing them half assed (or no assed like I did today). 

So, after my epiphany, instead of falling all over myself to apologize for my horrible behavior and then saying "see you next Monday," I fell all over myself apologizing and said, "and take me off the schedule."  Between our winter of disease and my other commitments (including the one to give myself a morning off every now and then), I just need to let this go.  I can't do it all... and in trying to, I'm really doing nothing at all.  Aha!

I'm Jealous of a Cow

Yesterday I saw the most amazing thing.  While visiting Fair Oaks Dairy Farm (a must do activity for anyone in Indiana), we went into the birthing barn (yes, on purpose) and watched as a giant mommy milk cow gave birth to her little baby girl.  Here's the mommy and baby just minutes after the birth...

 

Watching this process was amazing.  It was so natural.  The mama would just adjust her position, push and let nature take its course.  Eventually, a human birthing tech came in and helped with the delivery, and even that, the mommy cow just kept her stoic "this is what I do" attitude and let it happen.  It was amazing.  Then I realized something....  It is entirely possible that other women who have had two children would not be so mesmerized by this calf's birth.  Why?  Because they've done it.  However, I haven't.. not like that.... and I was amazed and a little jealous.

 

Don't get me wrong... I do not want a life of getting milked and birthing babies like this dairy cow.  But, even though I've had two children.... it wasn't this natural and God given miracle that I saw yesterday.  Mine were cut out.  By surgeons, of course. 

 

I was in labor with Will for 29 hours, my water broken for as long, and only dilated to 4 centimeters.  The finding was that he was not descending down the birth canal at all, and it becomes dangerous to have your water broken for that long without progressing... bacteria and whatnot.  Plus, American Idol was over (Taylor Hicks had just won), so why not get the show on the road?  C-section it was.  With Jack, they decided upon conception that if Will couldn't descend, Jack wouldn't either.... so c-section number two.

 

Now, I love my boys and my baby having days are over (though I do want to pursue a career as a cow birther after watching yesterday), but I sat there last night and thought... I wish I had what that cow had.  Not an unlimited supply of hay, but that miracle.  My body didn't do what God built a woman's body to do.  I didn't get the pushing and that elation of the baby sliding out and seeing it for the first time.  I had a curtain blocking the view of my innards.... and the baby wasn't immediately set upon my chest all gooey and slimy, but lovely...  Mine were taken to the incubator, and cleaned while my doctors put me back together and sewed me up.  Several people saw my boys and held them, before I did. 

 

I didn't know it at the time, and maybe it took watching this miracle happen to realize that while my boys are blessings (most of the time), I missed a little something.  There's a little part of the awe and wonder that I didn't experience.  So even though I don't want another baby, I wish I could redo the birth and do it right...   just one time.  

Dear 1st Grade Teacher...

Dear Mrs. B,

I've written letters like this before.  I wrote to Will's preschool teacher here, and I wrote to his Kindergarten teacher here.  In both cases, I was writing about a boy they didn't know, entering a world he didn't know either.  In this case, its not the same.

You were Will's Kindergarten teacher from spring break on.  While the transition was tough, by the end of the year, he loved you even more than his first teacher.  And when he heard that you would be his teacher again, he was thrilled... though slightly nervous that he's never going to remember your new name, since you were married this summer.  So, if you hear some Miss S's instead of Mrs. B's, know that it will bother him way more than it bothers you!

So, you know Will and he knows you, and I think he is a lot less nervous this year.  He knows the school and the routine.  Its easier this year, than any before.  Easier... for him.  The problem for me is that he's still my baby, and you're still a stranger who will spend more time with him today than I will.  You are molding him more than I am, and though you were his sculptor last year, I still have a hard time handing over the chisel, as I'm sure you can tell.

I laid in bed last night thinking about the first day of school.  Thinking about all the decisions he will make that I will not be a part of, good and bad, and that he will look to you for approval, for healing his wounds, for guidance and wisdom.  He will look to you for all the things he's used to looking at me for.  You have my 4'3" 75 pound baby to shape for a year....   so I am writing this letter to ask you to do it carefully.  Round out his edges, don't leave anything sharp. Make sure he is detailed and beautiful, strong and hard on the outside, but still slightly soft on the inside.  Shape him well for me, because though he's six, he's still my baby.  And when I sneak into his room to sleep next to him at night, I want my baby to still be there... even if he's taking up a much larger part of the bed.

Thanks and enjoy him!
Me

Destined for Mediocrity

I watched a mother walk out onto a basketball court filled with a ton of kids.  I watched her grab her son by the arm and pull him off the court.  Then I listened to her berate her son about how he isn't even trying, he is putting in no effort and she wished he was the one that was hit in the face with the ball and got a bloody nose (seriously, it was a gusher), because then at least he'd have a reason to be lazy.  The boy was 5, maybe 6, but starting Kindergarten in August and taking a week long basketball camp at the high school.  She then sat him on the sideline and told the "coach" (Varsity player leading their scrimmage) to put in a new kid, because anyone would do a better job.

I learned something about Will today as I watched that mother destroy her little boy.  He will never be exceptional if that is what it takes to make an exceptional basketball player.  He is destined for mediocrity, because that is the kind of mother that I will never be.

On a different level, I saw that kind of extreme pushing while dropping Tabbi off at her theater camp.  This is a camp for kids from around 8ish to teen to train kids to learn all aspects of theater, ending in a camp-wide performance of Annie Jr., a shortened version of the musical.  Everyone gets a part.  They have two weeks to pull it off.  Only parents will attend.  Short version... it ain't Broadway, ok.  The leaders are trying to teach the kids how to do auditions, so today they requested that the kids come in professional audition attire... aka no shorts and jeans.  Tabbi picked her new white lace skirt and teal shirt and she looked very pretty.  I drop her off and pull away and see Little Orphan Annie emerge from her mother's Sienna.  Curls.  Red Dress.  White shoes.  White socks folded over.  I have a feeling her face had freshly painted freckles on it if I would have gotten close enough to see them.  Talk about pressure on the girl, intimidation for the rest of the kids with a dash of "you really have nothing better to do?"on the side.

I learned something about Tabbi as I watched that Toddler in Tiara's retiree walk into the church building.  Tabbi is never going to be a star.  If that is what it takes to get your name up in lights (or typed into a Word doc), then she won't get it.  She is destined for mediocrity, because that is the kind of mother I will never be.

I give Will a pep talk going into basketball.  He's hard on himself and he needs the little, "you're here to learn and have fun and give it your all" talk or he will work himself into a tizzy because he's not the fastest, best shooter, heck he's not even the tallest this time.  So, I support him and give him a talk.  I support Tabbi by telling her that while she is not the next American Idol, she can still do this.  Sing with confidence, carry a tune.  No one's going to walk in there ready to cut their own album, and while she probably does not have the vocal instrument to be a Broadway leading lady, she can do this.  She can act and God knows she has drama down pat.  But if she owns it, and she's expressive.... she can do it.  And if she's more chorus than super star, so be it.  Its her first foray into the theater world.  Have fun.  Learn.  Own the role, no matter the size.  That's the mother I am. 

And maybe, they'll surprise me.  Maybe Will is going to have a  basketball career, and maybe Tabbi will be a star, but if I have to be that kind of mother to get them there, I'd rather have mediocre instead.

Karma's Out To Get Me

Today I took all three kids swimming at my neighbor's house next door.  We had a bit of a hectic morning trying to get some errands done and still get over there at a decent hour.  So, we rushed and lo and behold (to quote my high school math teacher... possibly the only thing I learned in Pre Calc was that phrase) it starts raining.  Hard.  Torrential downpour.  Monsoon.  Hurricane approaching hard.  So, I round up the neighbor kids and my own and out of the pool and to our homes we go.  I get them out of their suits and into dry clothes... and the sun comes out.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen.... that's my life.

I realize things can be much worse. In fact, parts of my family are dealing with the much worse and it makes my heart hurt every time I think about it.  I don't even begin to compare my issues to those, so don't take this more seriously than I mean it to be.  I'm just saying.... there's something up in my world right now.  I just have this nagging feeling that the cosmos is giving me the finger... and I don't think it means I am number one!

It all started back when we had a little windfall.  Finally, we had some money in the bank and we used it to pay off the medical bills that were invisibly strangling me on a daily basis.  We had a little leftover and decide to get Mark's car looked at.  He had gone two summers without air conditioning and that is unpleasant at best.  So, we take it in.  Instead of the minor repair we budgeted for... it was toast.  It would take more money to fix than it was worth.  So, we replace his car.  We take what little we had left in savings to pay off my van so we only have one car payment... and we get a nice, simple, commuter car.  Crisis averted.

Then it got hot.  Not in his car, but in our house.  Really hot.  So I call the ac people thinking again that I had enough budgeted for the repair.  But no... in true Lynn and Mark fashion... we need to replace it.  With the money that we don't have anymore.  Awesome. 

Now its cool.  Nice and cool.  So cool that you can smell the coolness even in my van.  Wait...  I mean coolant.  Meaning my engine is messed up.  You get the drift.  Money... more money.  Bye bye money. 

So, that was last week.  Van officially in working order on Friday.  And now....  I just sit here and wait and wonder what's next?  My friend Martin says asking that is the equivalent to saying "I'll be right back" in a horror movie.  You say those words and you're not coming back.  But, I say back to Martin....  I am cursed already, it seems.  What's the worst that can happen?  Wait....  maybe that's going one too far?!?!?!